


Punch Drunk Love

by swtalmnd



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I accidentally punched you in the face when I was trying to punch a different guy in the face I am so sorry au"</p><p>Or, what happens when I start reading all those AU prompt lists on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch Drunk Love

"Don't you dare speak to your Quartermaster that way," said 007, stepping around the workstation Q had put between himself and an irate 008. His voice was low, dangerous, and deadly serious. "Not one more word."

Q flushed and followed him, putting his hands up. "Now, Bond, he didn't know there had been a break in communications."

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" said 008 furiously, face red where it wasn't white with bandages.

007 moved, 008 moved, Q moved, and a punch landed. Just not where Bond had intended it.

Q fell into the workbench with a soft, surprised sound of pain. He didn't think his cheekbone was broken, but it was already starting to hurt more than anything he'd felt in a long time.

"Q, Q, fuck, I'm so sorry, look at me, let me see, oh god, are you all right? Look what you made me do, you're never getting any help from one of his minions again," said Bond, attention split between his Quartermaster and the Double-Oh agent staring at them in shock while the blood slowly drained from his face.

Q was faintly aware of someone calling for Medical, someone else calling for more agents to break up the impending fight, and an incongruous scoreboard flashing up on the big screen, full of gold stars and numbers. "I'm all right, well, I'm not, but I don't think you broke anything," said Q.

"Christ, Q, you know I'd never hurt you on purpose, don't you?" said James, his voice suddenly soft and contrite.

Q nodded, then whimpered when that set off a flare of pain in his head. "I know," he whispered. "Please take me to where the painkillers are now?"

"Medical is on their way," said his assistant, a young man named Colin who was pants at paperwork, but made the perfect cup of tea and was therefore invaluable.

"As are 003, 004, and 009," said Divya, one of the other techs. She sounded very smug about that, with an underlying current of anger. "I can't figure out if 007 should get stars or lose them for this."

"Both," whispered Q, eyes closing to a squint as his head started to throb in time to his pulse. "Give him a skull at the other end or something."

"And how many stars is 008 going to lose?" asked Divya tartly. "He hasn't many to start with."

"Two," said Q, making an arbitrary decision to keep his mind off the pain. Maybe his cheekbone was broken, his head certainly felt split in two. Maybe Bond had cracked a tooth. "Now I know how you agents feel," whispered Q. "I don't know how you fight with this kind of pain."

"I'm a stubborn arsehole," said Bond, his hand in Q's, grounding him when the pain tried to make his head float away. "Pain isn't important to me, really."

Q huffed, half laugh and half indignation. "Feels pretty bloody important from where I'm sitting," he said, only just realising he was, in fact, sitting. He had no idea when that had happened, but he also didn't really care. "Make it three if my face is broken or he doesn't do all his paperwork."

"One skull for Bond, and a loss of two stars with a third in jeopardy for Wallace. Got it," said Divya, fingers tapping against her keyboard. The room was so quiet otherwise, all the usual noises hushed while they waited for the fallout.

Q startled enough to make his face flare in pain when Medical rattled in with a gurney, and he didn't even protest as he was laid down and taken away. He was vaguely aware that Bond came along, even agreeing to an exam if it meant they'd let him keep an eye on his Quartermaster's condition, but the pain in his head at every bump of the gurney wheels was taking up most of Q's attention.

Q winced and flinched through the cognitive exam, but once they determined he didn't have a concussion, a pinch at his elbow sent blissfully soft cotton wool to pack around Q's brain, distancing him from everything including the pain. Bond stayed by his side, and held onto Q's glasses during the x-rays, which revealed that he did indeed have a small fracture to his left zygomatic that would likely heal on its own. The doctor joked about Q being his least likely patient to re-injure the area before it was fully healed, but Bond's glare -- visible now that Q's glasses were returned to him -- made the smile die on his face.

"Don't be mean to the nice doctor, he gave me painkillers," said Q, patting Bond's arm clumsily. "Christ, I'm going to be useless until this wears off, what on earth did you give me?"

"Nothing too fancy," said the doctor, amused. "You're a lightweight, unlike 007 here, who is nearly impossible to sedate."

"I've got better things to do than sleep," said Bond dryly. "Does he need someone to go home with him?"

Q actually giggled, much to his distant mortification. "Going to guard my body from yourself, Mr. Bond?"

"Or from slipping in the kitchen while trying to make a cup of tea," said Bond dryly.

The doctor nodded. "It doesn't have to be you, his assistant is also authorised, as well as a few others."

Bond's eyebrow went up. "I'm already on his authorised list?"

"Several of the Double-Ohs are, he adds you as he decides you're trustworthy, I suppose," said the doctor.

"I want a nap and proper pyjamas," announced Q. "Bond, go get my things from Colin while they check me out so I can sleep in my own bed. And don't be mean, he makes me tea."

"I'd never be mean to Colin," said Bond, mouth quirked in wry amusement. "You'd take away all my stars. Speaking of which, I'd best make sure they know to take that third one off Wallace."

"Stars?" asked the doctor, after Bond's retreating back.

Q chuckled again. "We keep a chart for all the Double-Oh agents, they get gold stars when they do something good, and lose them when they fuck up. It's brilliant, I get more of my equipment back, and the ones who know about it suck up with treats."

The doctor chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think that would work for us down here. You've got your own special charisma with our wayward agents," he said. He began giving Q a final exam, warning him as he worked of what actions would cause the most pain and what sort of food he might want to eat. Soon enough Q was finished up and ready to go home, an impressive bruise forming around his eye and across his cheekbone.

"If only Bond was as good at paperwork as he is at hitting things," said Q, admiring himself in the mirror.

"You'd miss the excuse to take away stars," said Bond, lounging in the doorway. He had Q's messenger bag and his Scrabble mug, contents still steaming gently. "Colin insisted I give you this, but you have to finish it before we get in my car."

"Given the way you treat cars," said Q dryly, "I don't think a little spill is going to be the end of this one."

"Those are different," said Bond, handing off the cup. "The nurse says you're all mine, and I'm to stay the night just in case you really do have a concussion."

"Angling for breakfast already, 007? I thought you were more the type to love 'em and leave 'em, often dead," replied Q, between sips of the blissful ambrosia in his cup. "Oh, he used the good tea."

"The good tea?" asked Bond, eyebrow going up. He kept the bag where it was, slung across his body, clearly intending to fetch and carry as well as nursemaid. Guilt was a beautiful thing.

"Mmhm," murmured Q, inhaling again before having another perfect sip. "I bought a tin of stupidly expensive Earl Grey with some extra florals, and I keep it in my desk. Colin only breaks it out on special occasions, he hates to deal with the loose leaves."

"Ah, I see," said Bond. "Well, come along, to the car park with you." He put a hand on the small of Q's back and guided him oh so gently out the door and to the elevators, graceful as if they were on the dance floor despite Q's faltering steps. The world was awfully fuzzy, which Q knew was the result of whatever they'd shot him up with, and he was grateful for the attendance now even if he'd probably be embarrassed to have needed it later.

Q sipped his tea in the elevator, and tried to pretend he wasn't enjoying leaning against Bond's solid frame. The car park wasn't far from Medical, conveniently, and he found himself in front of a very posh car that he was fair certain wasn't one of theirs. "So the car thing is personal as well as professional?" he asked, taking his penultimate sip of tea.

"Car thing? I do appreciate fine vehicles, yes, and this is my own car, if that's what you mean," said Bond, looking amused as he put Q's bag in the pristine trunk. "Bottoms up."

Q blinked and blushed, then realised what Bond meant and huffed. "I'm savouring it, be patient," he said. He deliberately took a moment to inhale the complex aroma before finishing off the cuppa and handing it off to Bond. "Don't you dare leave that in the car park."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Bond. He pulled a cloth handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped away the traces of liquid, then tucked both into a bit of cargo netting on one side of the trunk. "Safe as houses."

"I'm surprised you're letting me sit on the seat," said Q with a snort.

Bond gave him a wry, flirty look. "It's not as if you'll be bare-arsed."

"Not in the MI6 car park, certainly," said Q. He allowed Bond to help him sit, mainly because he wasn't sure he could manage it with a car that low on drugs this good. "I have no idea how you all manage," he said, making a frustrated sound after his third failed attempt to get the seatbelt to buckle.

"Manage what?" asked Bond, getting in the other side. He took the buckle from Q's hand and connected it for him gently, giving his thigh a little pat before putting on his own seatbelt.

"This. Being all hopped up on painkillers after someone hits you in the face," said Q, feeling too petulant to be tactful.

Bond winced, and Q couldn't pretend it wasn't a bit satisfying. "You get used to it, and most of us give up on the painkillers and just learn to ignore the pain," he said. He paused, and then added, "I really am sorry."

"Your guilt is very useful," said Q generously.

Bond laughed and started the car. "Well, as long as it's useful."

Q harrumphed and slouched in the comfortable leather seat. "Do you even know where we're going?" he asked.

"Colin gave me the address, you can sleep if you'd like," said Bond. He put the car into gear and pulled out gentle as could be, the motion smooth and sedate and nothing at all like his normal driving.

Q yawned at the very suggestion. "Might," he said, snuggling into his cardigan and wishing for just a bit more warmth.

As if reading his mind, Bond paused when they got to the security gate and put on the heat, nodding to the guard before heading up and out into the afternoon sunlight. That was all Q needed, and he found himself drifting off, dreaming of large, competent hands on his body in ways that didn't involve a fractured face.

* * *

Q's doze was broken by gentle shaking that was not, in fact, caused by the car, which was parked and turned off.

"Q, I need you to wake up and give me your keys," said Bond, for what Q was certain was not the first time.

Q yawned and fumbled in his pockets for them. "Surprised you didn't just go fishing," he said, tactless from the drugs and sleep.

"I prefer to get a gentleman's consent before fishing around in his trousers," said Bond, sounding amused. He took the keys and got out, then came around to Q's side and opened the door, at which point Q became aware that Bond had not only already retrieved his laptop and tea mug, but a bag of his own.

"You're really staying?" asked Q, brow knitting. "I haven't got a guest room, I never have guests."

"You were only allowed to leave because I promised to stay, don't you remember?" said Bond, giving him that completely unfair, charming grin. "It's fine, I'm sure you've got a corner and a spare blanket for me."

"I don't, really, and I'm absolutely certain you're going to insist on sleeping with me anyway," said Q, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I hope you're not allergic to cats."

"I'm only allergic to paperwork," said Bond. He helped Q to his feet and got the car locked up, then led him with the same care to the elevator. "12th floor, right?"

"Right," said Q, leaning into him despite himself. "I want to go straight to sleep, oh, I should feed them," he said, vaguely aware that he wasn't making much sense.

"You can direct me," said Bond. "I hope you have some takeaway menus, too, I can't cook much more than eggs and toast, and I'm guessing you'll want a bit more variety."

Q yawned again. "'Course I do, I know all the 24-hour places, too," he said, letting himself be led from the elevator to his flat, 1213. Bond opened the door, and Q sighed with pleasure as he stepped through into home and then remembered to disarm his alarm before they set it off. The cats perked up where they were asleep up in his loft bed, making curious sounds to see their human home early. He had two sisters from the same litter, who he'd named Moira and Norn as a nod to his classical education. Q nearly fell over trying to get his shoes off, and he sighed with embarrassment when Bond stooped to help him, once the door was closed.

"Do you need to re-arm the alarm?" asked Bond, removing his own shoes as well.

"Best not, I think you're better protection anyway," said Q with a smile. "Kitchen's through here. Come on, girls, time for food." His flat was mainly one room with a small kitchen on one side, and a small bathroom on the other. It was small and cluttered and he'd had to put his workbench under the loft bed, but Q loved it anyway for its location and the bookshelves he'd built into every available bit of wall space.

"I didn't know you were a collector," said Bond, following obediently. "I suppose it makes more sense now that you get so riled up about pristine return of your toys."

Q huffed and stuck out his tongue, then showed Bond silently where to find everything to to feed both cats and humans. He resisted the urge to make tea and allowed Bond to take over portioning the can of food and handing putting it down for the cats, which made Bond instantly acceptable to them.

"You're right about the bed," said Bond, standing. "I can't let you go up there alone with your head."

Q sighed. "I know, I know," he said, shuffling out into the main room. "Just let me get changed, and you can come up and read or whatever while I nap. And no mocking my pyjamas, they are awesome pyjamas." Q got out his absolute favourite set in warm black flannel covered in Space Invaders aliens. "I don't need company in the bathroom."

Bond chuckled. "No, no, I wouldn't dream of it, I'll just change out here while you get ready."

"Feel free to use the wardrobe, but you'll still end up with cat hair on your suit," said Q, gesturing as he shuffled across the room to the bathroom. He tried to tell himself he wasn't looking forward to having Bond snuggled up with him in his loft bed, but even with all the drugs he didn't believe it. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then padded out with clothes for the hamper and made a point of hanging up his cardigan so as to give Bond a chance to pointedly not laugh.

When he turned back, he rather regretted it, as Bond was wearing pyjama bottoms in cool blue silk and nothing else. "Planning to nap?" asked Q, sounding sharp even to himself.

"Might as well," said Bond. "It's warm in here, I hope you're not offended," he said, gesturing at his chiseled torso.

"I'm only offended you're in such good shape, and since that is your job, I won't hold it against you," said Q. He wobbled his way up the ladder to the loft by taking the steps very slowly and trying not to think about Bond ogling his arse. Bond had chosen to monitor Q's ascent from quite close up, presumably in case he needed catching. "The cats will join us."

"I'd already gathered that," said Bond, grinning up at him while he got things rearranged to accommodate two people rather than one who liked to sleep in a messy nest of blankets. He followed up the ladder and helped Q to find a comfortable position, curled up on the side without the bruising, head on several of his fluffiest pillows. "Go to sleep, Q, you're safe now, I promise."

Q huffed, but he obediently closed his eyes anyway; the blurry visual of the sideways room wasn't processing right, probably because of the drugs. He felt Bond shift and settle, and then two smaller bodies padded into the nest to wedge themselves into the warmest possible spot, between Q and Bond. Q worked an arm out of his cocoon of blankets to stroke them, fingers brushing over Bond's naked back once by accident.

"Don't you want a blanket?" Q asked, eyes still closed.

"It's really very warm in here," said Bond, sounding amused, "but I do have one just in case you, the cats, and the heat aren't enough for me."

"It's your skin," said Q grumpily, trailing his fingers over whatever bit of it was currently nearest before going back to the cats instead. They both had wonderfully silky fur that was equally nice for him to touch as for them to be petted, and soon enough Q drifted off to the sound of purring and the fainter noise of Bond's nearby breathing.

* * *

It was the smell of food that woke him, and upon opening his eyes, Q instantly regretted it. "More drugs," he croaked, burying himself under the blankets until no light could get through at all.

"More drugs and some good soup," said Bond. "Do you eat in bed?"

"I will today," said Q. He didn't usually because he hated getting spills on the blankets and having to haul the whole lot down to the laundromat, but there was no way he was getting out of bed until the pain had receded somewhat. "I feel ruddy awful, your guilt is completely warranted."

Bond's response was somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, and Q wished he could see the face that went with it. "I was trying to defend your honour, and I ended up hurting you. I should know better by now," said Bond.

"I can defend my own honour," said Q, "but the sentiment was not unappreciated. Just the aim."

"I'm going to stay until you're better," said Bond, his voice closer. "I won't leave you in this ridiculous bed."

Q huffed. "This bed is both practical and comfortable," he said. "I built that tie pin you're so enamoured of under this bed."

James laughed. "Can you sit up for me, kitt- er, Q? I've got almost all the lights off now."

"I have cats, I am not a kitten," said Q darkly, but he did emerge from the blankets enough to find that the stabbing light had softened to a dull poking. "All right, feed me."

He was very surprised when, instead of handing him the bowl, a spoon appeared in front of his mouth. He ate it, finding it was an absolutely delicious rice porridge, probably from the Chinese place that was always trying to get him to try something aside from his usual. "I can feed myself, I just meant-"

His objection was interrupted with another spoonful of soup. "I want you to eat a little and then take your pills, and then you can have the bowl once it stays down," said Bond. "I do not want to try to deal with you throwing up all the way up here."

"Fine, fine," said Q, only a little petulant. "Two more bites and then I get drugs and tea. There is tea, isn't there?"

"There is tea," said Bond. "I may have bribed the delivery boy to bring some of your good tea, which it turns out is available at a shop down the street." He presented Q with another bite.

"Where do you think I got it, India? I'm not the expert world traveller, you are. I hate flying," replied Q before accepting the spoonful. One more, which he ate in silence, and he found two pills pressed into his hand instead.

"Take those both. Here's water," said Bond, holding the glass for him.

Q did, drinking all the water down, and then making grabby hands. "Tea, please."

Bond laughed. "Do you have enough coordination for both tea and soup?" he asked, trading the full cup for the empty glass and setting it aside, presumably on one of the spots Q had for such things. Not eating in bed was one thing, but tea was life.

"Tea first," Q replied, taking a long sip and making what might possibly have been an obscene noise. "Oh, yes, tea, I love you, you're the only one for me."

Bond snorted. "If only you showed such devotion to your girlfrie- boyfriend?" he said, correcting himself when Q raised on eyebrow at him.

"I have neither at the moment, but it would be the latter," said Q. "Being promoted to Quartermaster doesn't exactly leave much time for relationships. Bit like being a Double-Oh, I should think."

Bond made a noncommittal noise which served to remind Q that he got quite a lot of action in the line of his work, which seemed monumentally unfair even if they did often try to murder him afterward. Q ignored this in favour of lavishing his attention on the second love of his life, after technology: his tea. Bond made a lovely strong cup, and he'd paid enough attention earlier to give Q just the right amount of sugar, which was a lot, with a splash of milk. It was almost as good as Colin's, not that Q would admit it.

"So a man could look forward to sweet talk between the sheets, then, or is that just for your beverage of choice?" asked Bond, waiting patiently in the dimness for Q to be ready for more porridge.

Q chuckled. "I'm afraid that's classified," he replied dryly. He finished off the cup and held it out expectantly.

Bond traded it for the bowl of soup, and Q inhaled the warm smell of chicken and rice. "I've got very good security clearance," said Bond, voice filled with innuendo.

Q huffed a laugh, pleased when his head only throbbed a little in response. "Your security clearance is infamous, Bond." He took a bite of soup and mmed, very pleased indeed with the mild, savoury flavour. It really was the perfect food for his aching face, substantial but requiring no chewing to speak of. "However, I don't allow just anyone to unlock my files."

"I suppose I haven't earned myself any favours, sexual or otherwise," said Bond wryly. "I'm assuming you're going to want more tea after that's gone, and probably require help down the ladder as well."

Q sighed. "As much as I wish I could stay up here forever, yes, I'll need to do a few things down in the flat. You're just lucky the cats have technology on their side, so no litter-box cleaning for you."

"It wouldn't be the worst thing I've ever done, by any means," said Bond with a chuckle. He receded into the blurry darkness, voice growing further away as he made his near-silent way down the ladder. "I'll hold your tea hostage down here so you have to come get it."

"It'll be better motivation than you think, but I might need my glasses," said Q, sounding a little plaintive. "I can turn on a night-light as well."

"You'll need to sleep again, once that pill kicks in," said Bond, from what Q thought was probably the kitchen, which was confirmed when it was joined by the sound of running water. "I'll come up and make sure you don't fall out of bed."

"Will you sleep?' asked Q curiously.

"Will you damage me if I snuggle in my sleep?" Bond shot back.

"Depends on how far your hands wander," said Q, though honestly he couldn't imagine what he had that Bond might want to put his hands on. He considered Bond's earlier flirting entirely academic, like a workout for his charm, nothing personal. "I don't put out on the first date."

"When will it segue into the second one?" asked Bond impishly. "I'm not going to let you sleep alone until you're not taking anything stronger than paracetamol, regardless."

"That's going to be several weeks, from what the doctor said," replied Q dubiously. "Can you even stay off-mission that long, let alone off women?"

Bond laughed, and fortunately for Q he didn't sound offended in the least. "I'm taking some of the many days of Medical leave I have stocked up," said Bond, "I arranged it with M already, she was keen to make sure her more valuable asset was properly protected, and told me to tell you to move somewhere more secure."

"That doesn't explain how you're going to get your other itches scratched," said Q. "I'm not going to put out just because you're keeping me safe, this isn't a Whitney Houston film."

"Are you eating up there?" asked Bond. "Don't make me feed you."

"I'm eating," said Q, taking a few more bites. "You still haven't answered the question."

Bond hmphed. "Do you really think so little of me that you don't believe I can be celibate for three whole weeks?"

"Hm, well, perhaps I should be the one considering using you for sex, then," said Q, feeling the fuzzy tactlessness starting to take hold as the pain faded further. 

"Drugs are working, I see," said Bond. "I wouldn't let you, unless I thought you wanted to keep me," he added.

Q shot an amused look in the general direction of the kitchen. "Where would I put you?" he teased, between bites. The soup was almost gone, and he was feeling much better thanks to it and the drugs.

"You could always take over mine, it's got more than one room," said Bond, voice getting closer. "Are you done?"

"Almost," said Q, shovelling in the last, huge bite. He had to swallow carefully as it was more than he'd thought, but he managed well enough. "There we are, come give me my glasses? Things are fuzzy enough even with them."

"Yes, of course," said Bond, coming silently up the ladder and taking the bowl, then handing Q his glasses very carefully. "Let me put this in the sink and then I'll help you down."

"Yes, please," said Q. He might go up and down the ladder by himself all the time normally, but he wasn't feeling steady enough to risk it. 

Q waited patiently and allowed Bond to spot him all the way down, their bodies close on the ladder in what must have been an awkward manner for Bond. Q was grateful to finally be down, and he headed for the loo, flicking on one of his dimmest night lights as he went, bathing the room in a soft blue glow.

He emerged feeling refreshed to find Bond staring fondly at the small statue whose light Q had turned on. "I didn't know these lit up," he said, gesturing to it.

"Well, ah, I might have altered one or two of mine over the years," said Q, flushing a little. He'd never been good at keeping his toys in their packages, collectible or not, and this statue had just begged for a bit of LED interference.

"Of course you did," said Bond, sounding inordinately fond. "Come on, there's tea. Will you go back to sleep after this, or want a shower or anything?"

Q sighed, biting his lower lip and following Bond into the kitchen. "I expect I'll end up asleep whether I like it or not," he said. "I'm really not used to the drugs."

"Tea and sleep, and I might sleep as well this time, then," said Bond.

Q accepted the cup Bond handed him and leaned against the kitchen counter to sip it, only squinting a little in the brighter light. Bond had only turned on the tiny task light above the sink, but it was still quite a bit brighter than Q's eyes were really happy about right now. "Sleep is good," said Q, taking a sip. "Mm, and tea. We'll go through the whole tin in a couple of days at this rate."

Bond chuckled. "I'm absolutely certain you can afford another, if you're pulling a department head's salary and only paying for this place," he teased. "I mean, it is set up perfectly, but I can't imagine it costs much."

"More than you'd think, because of the location, but you might be correct about the tea," allowed Q primly. "Anyway, I shall allow you to continue spoiling me out of your properly-placed guilt over my injury."

Bond sighed and reached out to very carefully move Q's chin, bringing his bruises into the light. "I really am very sorry," he said.

"I believe we shall have to institute a rule of showing and not telling, as you've now said that more times than I can count," said Q with a wry half-smile. "Tea is love, Bond."

Bond laughed. "Tea it is, then," he said, warm fingers leaving cold spots as they retreated. Q faded back out of the light and sipped his tea, trying not to think about having 007 follow him home and ask to be kept, no matter how facetiously. It wouldn't do his heart rate any good.

The bed had cooled while they were drinking tea, and Q spent far too much time creating a new cocoon of blankets for himself, unable to quite get comfortable. Finally, Bond said softly, "May I?"

"May you what?" asked Q crabbily.

A warm body wrapped itself around Q's back, and deft hands got the blankets and pillows arranged so that Q was cradled instead of strangled. "Is this all right?"

Q's brain attempted to convince him that it wasn't, that snuggling with a Double-Oh agent was a terrible idea, but the rest of his body had already betrayed him by relaxing into Bond's embrace. "Apparently so," he said, and then yawned.

"Good," said Bond, breath a little puff against Q's ear.

Q let the drugs and exhaustion drag him under, vaguely aware of the cats making their own little nest on top of them as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was morning when Q woke up again, and he wasn't sure if the pain had faded a little or he'd started to get used to it. "Everything is awful," he announced in a croaking voice.

"I'll get you tea," said Bond.

"That will make it less awful," Q allowed, rolling into the warm spot when Bond left and staring at the ceiling. "How long am I on medical leave?"

"Three weeks," Bond reminded him. "They want to make sure the fracture's remodelling well."

Q harrumphed. "Feed Moira and Norn while you're down there," he said, instead of any of the many other things he could think of. He had no idea what he'd do with himself -- or with Bond, for that matter.

"Already on it," said Bond, amused. "They're quite friendly, aren't they?"

"Once you feed them, they are," said Q. "Norn bit Moneypenny once."

"I can't believe you had Moneypenny over here before me," said Bond. "I had to break you to get an invitation, what did she do?" He almost sounded genuinely hurt, but that would be absurd.

"She's actually in town more than three days a month," said Q. "We've been friends for a while, she helped me transition to being Quartermaster."

Bond harrumphed, making Q giggle, because it was a direct echo of his own grumpy sounds. "Do you want breakfast?" he asked.

"Down there, yes," said Q. "I need the loo, and I want a shower. I'm a bit gross."

"Shower before pills, perhaps," said Bond. His voice was closer, and Q opened his eyes to find him peering over the top of the ladder. "Ready?"

Q sighed. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. He retrieved his glasses from their cubby, then let Bond help him down again, feeling clumsy and uncoordinated. His head flared with pain at the change in position, too, and he had to take a moment at the bottom to just breathe through it. "Tea, then shower," said Q.

"It's almost ready," said Bond. His fingers hovered near Q's face and then all of him retreated into the kitchen.

Q sighed and debated the merits of following versus not moving, but the considerations of future days with a sulking Bond outweighed the momentary desire to hide. He padded into the kitchen to find Bond pouring two mugs of tea and said, "Thank you."

Bond smiled at him and it was warm and shy and just a little guilty, and quite possibly the most open expression Q had ever seen on his face. "It's my pleasure," he said, making up Q's cup and handing it over before doing his own.

Q smiled back, something fluttering in his chest. "Well, far be it for me to keep you from your pleasures, Bond."

"James," said Bond. "If you please."

Q mmed. "I prefer Q, honestly, is that weird? That's probably why I never date anymore, I'd have to find someone in Six or get used to hearing my name all over again," he said, musing aloud. "I earned Q."

"I don't mind using Q," said Bond. "You have earned it. But I'd still like you to call me James." There was something puppyish in his gaze now that made Q smile.

"James it is," said Q. "But not on missions, that would just be weird."

"No," said Bond. James. He sighed. "On missions I'm most definitely Bond."

Q nodded and leaned against the counter, sipping his tea. "You're surprisingly congenial as a helpmate," he said, "for all you resist being helped."

Bond chuckled. "I don't like feeling helpless, I suppose, not to mention being both a control freak and quite fond of my self-image as above all that ridiculous healing."

Q's eyebrows went up; he hadn't expected anything nearly so self-aware from Bond, but had merely been bantering. "Well, I'm perfectly happy to accept help, and tea."

"Always tea," agreed Bond, amused.

"Forever tea. Tea is love," said Q. He finished off his mug with a soft sigh. "Right, shower next. I should be able to handle this alone."

"I'd offer to help," said Bond, "but we've established you've no intention of keeping me."

"Well," Q said, unable to resist the flirting, "if you're always going to be so helpful, I might be persuaded otherwise." He used that as his exit line, but ruined it by pausing to rummage for fresh pyjamas, which gave Bond plenty of time to follow.

"You won't always need me to be helpful," Bond pointed out, leaning in the doorway and watching as Q fumbled for clean clothing.

Q mmed thoughtfully. "I always need tea," he replied. He had no idea why they were discussing this; Bond rarely made commitments, rarely shagged men, and had never been known to make a commitment to a man.

Bond chuckled wryly. "Ah, but you have Colin to provide you with tea," he pointed out.

"At work," said Q. "I'm hardly going to bring my assistant home for a cuddle in my loft bed, I'm fairly certain the sexual harassment suit would write itself at that point." He turned, TARDIS pyjamas clutched to his chest. "You're hardly going to report me to HR for a cuddle you initiated."

"And you allowed," said Bond, sounding annoyingly pleased with himself. "You slept much better that way."

"You're warm," said Q. "I'm showering now."

"I'll see what I can scrounge up for breakfast," said Bond, turning back to the kitchen. He had to get the last word, however, as he called over his shoulder, "I'll be sure to make up a fresh pot of tea."

Q shut the door firmly and got into the shower, trying not to let thoughts of Bond distract him too much. He had no idea how he'd gone from thinking of Bond as the infamous but untouchable secret agent to someone within his reach, but Q was going to blame the drugs. Especially if it led to him doing anything so stupid as to believe Bond -- James -- would really want to be his. He washed by rote habit, hands getting him soapy and then rinsing him clean while his mind collected all those little incongruous moments of James being sweet to him in the past day, and even before, protecting him or defending him or just bringing him a cup of Earl Grey.

"You can't have him," Q whispered, the words lost in the sound of rainfall. He sounded unconvincing even to himself, so he forced himself to concentrate instead on getting his hair clean and conditioned and very carefully washing his injured face. The warm water was wonderful, but he was very ready for his pain pill when he got out and patted himself dry.

A knock on the door startled Q, and James said through the door, "All right in there? Food's almost ready."

"Yeah, just getting dressed," said Q, putting word to deed. Clean everything was heavenly, and he pushed aside those other wistful thoughts and emerged, bruised but smiling. "How's the world getting on without us?"

"I haven't checked," said James. "I decided they could get on a while longer while we ate."

Q smiled and followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled two plates out of the oven, perfectly prepared omelettes with toast on the side. "Wow, impressive," said Q, coming over to the counter to pour them tea. They stood up to eat, since there was only one chair in Q's flat and it was under the bed in his workspace. Everything else he did either standing or in bed, which made him blush to think what else James might like to do with him in either of those places.

"I've learned a thing or two, though mostly breakfast and snacks," said James, taking his tea with a nod of thanks.

Q dug in, making a happy little sound at the taste of cheese and bacon inside fluffy eggs. "Oh, yes, this is brilliant," said Q. He chewed carefully, but everything was tender and easy on his aching teeth. "More soup later, I think."

"Did I not cut the bacon up small enough?" asked James, worried.

Q shook his head. "No, no, it's fine, but I can tell this is about my solid food limit." He took a long sip of tea, and then dipped his buttered toast in it to make mush he could eat. "See? Perfect."

James grinned. "Perfect," he agreed, though he ate his own toast and tea separately.

They ate mostly in comfortable silence, though James interrupted halfway through to make Q take his pill, and he offered to make a run for groceries later if Q was willing to stay safely out of the bed while he was gone. They were sipping another cup of tea when Q's phone rang, the sound shrill and unwelcome, and he sighed and went to find it.

"This is Q," he said, after checking that the number was from Six.

"There you are, I've been looking all over for you," said a harried voice.

"I'm on medical leave," said Q. "You'll have to get one of the other Q-branch staff to help you."

"Medical leave?" replied the voice, loudly enough that Q flinched away from the phone. "No, no, no, that's not acceptable."

Q was saved from a response when James took the phone from his hand and said smoothly, "I'm afraid the Quartermaster is unavailable, and I suggest you take it up with M if you have a problem." There was another squawk that even Q could hear, and then James hung up. "I think I'll just keep this for you," he said. "Anyone who actually needs you can go through me."

"I'd object, but I really don't," said Q with a grin. "It's good to know you're taking care of all of me," he teased.

James' eyebrow went up. "Well, not all of you," he replied, putting plenty of innuendo into his tone.

Q felt his face grown hot. "I think that's a bit above and beyond the call of duty, at least while you're on home soil," he said, trying very hard not to stammer. "I wouldn't want to take advantage."

"Shouldn't that be my line?" said James, grinning now. "I'm fairly certain no one in the world would believe you'd coerced me in any way."

"All the more reason," said Q tartly.

James chuckled. "So, feel up to some time out of your nest now, or want to try again after lunch?" he asked, changing the subject smoothly.

Moira wound around Q's ankles, then stretched up one leg and mrred to be picked up. Q did so, cradling the warm cat, burying his face in her neck fur to inhale the warm, kitteny smell that he loved so much. "I think the cats and I can manage a bit longer down here," he said. "I'll read or something."

"I'll get dressed," said James with a grin. He finished his tea, then grabbed his bag and vanished into the bathroom, not incidentally showing off his arse in the process.

Q made up another pot. He was going to need it.

* * *

Q later learned that James had actually called Colin to get help with what to buy for him at the store, but all he knew at the time was that James came back from the shops with an amazing array of his favourites, at least those that were soft or could be rendered soft enough to be going on with. James thoroughly spoiled him with food, tea, movies downloaded to his tablet, and nightly cuddles, not to mention the excellent company. Once he got over apologising every five minutes, James turned out to be a good conversationalist with a surprising breadth of knowledge about things Q was actually interested in.

Q was weaned off the harder drugs and onto an over-the-counter painkiller after the first week, with the doctor declaring him healing nicely, but still not allowed back for the full three weeks. James didn't seem to mind, only taking an afternoon to go to his flat and do both his own and Q's laundry, returning with plenty of clean things for both of them. It took all of Q's willpower not to greet him at the door with a kiss upon seeing the basket of freshly laundered pyjamas, but instead he just put his things away and showed James the robotic cat toy he'd been working on for Moira and Norn.

By the end of the third week, Q could almost eat proper food again without flinching, and his bruises had faded to almost nothing. They ordered curry to celebrate, and Q realised with a pang that he'd grown used to having James around and underfoot just as much as the cats.

"My bed's going to feel awfully big and cold without you in it tomorrow," said Q, trying to sound casual and teasing as they dished up the food.

Q couldn't have put a name to the expression on James' face at that, but it wasn't the relief he'd been half expecting. "I'd offer to stay, but you've been adamant that you've got nowhere to keep me."

Q huffed a laugh. "It's true, though you've not shown me if yours is any bigger," he said, his tone more flirty than he'd intended. "For all I know you actually like living in a closet full of nerd toys."

"I like your nerd toys," said James, "but it would be nice having room to hang up my suits."

Q gave him a shy, delighted look. "You're always surprising me, James," he said, and then he leaned in and gave James a soft kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. "Thank you for being here for me."

James turned, one hand coming up to cup Q's face on the uninjured side. "I wanted to be here, Q," he said, and then leaned in very slowly, giving Q time to pull or turn away.

Instead, Q met him in the middle, and the kiss was softer and far more tender than Q would have expected three weeks ago. James' lips were slightly chapped, his hand was slightly rough against Q's skin, and every moment of the kiss was absolutely perfect.

Q stepped back slowly, looking in James' face and finding just what he wanted. "Let's eat, and then we can take this to bed," he said, voice confident despite the butterflies in his stomach.

James swallowed, then nodded and stole one more kiss, this one fiercer, though still careful as though he worried Q was made of glass. "I just want you to know," he said, turning back to their plates, "I've wanted this longer than just, you know, these past couple of weeks."

"I know, I mean, I didn't know before, but I see it now," said Q. "You've been taking care of me for a while now."

James flashed him a smile that was both less charming and more real than anything Q had seen him use before this strange ordeal. He stepped aside to reveal their two plates full of treats. "Shall we?"

"We'll need our energy," said Q, voice full of innuendo. They dug in, flirting back and forth as they ate, every word full of intentions for the very near future. There were to-go cups of chai for them to drink, to which Q added an appropriate amount of sugar, and it took no time at all for everything to be gone.

"Dessert after, um, dessert?" offered Q, helping James to pack the leftovers away into the fridge where there were sweets waiting.

James grinned. "You're more than dessert, Q, but yes, I'll make tea and bring you sugar in bed once we're done."

Q kissed him, dishes going in the sink, and then took his hand and led him toward the bed. "Will you always spoil me?" he asked, climbing on his own, for once not minding that James stood close enough to stare at his arse as he moved.

"Oh, yes," said James, leaning in to rub his face against Q's pyjama-clad bottom. "I've wanted to do that for ages," he added, when Q laughed.

"Which, enjoy my arse or spoil me?" Q asked, escaping up into his loft bed. He stripped out of his shirt, but he wasn't quite brave enough yet to shuck his kit completely. He watched as James came up the ladder, shedding his own shirt as soon as he got high up enough, and then sending it and the rest of his clothing over the side.

"Both, of course," said James, crawling across the bed to kiss Q thoroughly. His skin was a uniform tan with only a slight variation across his hips, not that Q was at all surprised James was inclined to go nude in the sun. He was more fit than Q had thought real people got before he worked at MI6, muscular and handsome and even well-endowed.

Q kissed back, very happy when the motion did nothing to make his face hurt. He spread his legs and helped James settle between them, only a single layer of flannel keeping their cocks apart. His hands roamed over James' body, exploring the strength and the scars, finding the places that were sensitive, and just feeling the warmth of his skin. 

"This is a very good idea," Q said between breathless kisses.

James chuckled. "I do have them occasionally," he said, hand teasing at Q's waistband. "May I?" he asked.

Q nodded. "Let me put my glasses up, too, and, um," he stammered, nervous despite the fact that James surely knew already how underwhelming Q's physique was. Q tucked his glasses into their nighttime niche and then opened a hidden panel to pull out lubricant and condoms. "We'll need these?"

James kissed him fiercely. "We'll need those," he said. He started kissing his way down Q's body, licking and nibbling, his mouth hot and mobile and talented at drawing pleasure from every bit of skin it touched. Q barely noticed when James got his pyjama pants off, too distracted by the pleasure of James' lips and tongue and teeth. James nuzzled at his cock but passed it by, spreading Q's legs wide and diving between them. That mouth slipped down the crease of hip and thigh and under Q's balls to lap at his entrance, and that was all it took to melt Q into a puddle of incoherent need.

James' tongue teased and circled, lapped and licked, his lips kissing and sucking and pressing until Q was begging for more. Tender kisses moved along Q's thighs while James' strong fingers pushed inside him, slick and solid and not nearly enough. Every touch and kiss spoke of James' adoration, and it drove Q's arousal higher and higher. He opened more easily than ever -- he just wanted so very much, wanted James, wanted to feel the heat that had been building between them since that one misplaced punch.

"You're ready," breathed James, warm over Q's tight bollocks.

Q whimpered his agreement as James' fingers left him, impatiently tilting his hips while James fumbled with condom and wrapper and finally, finally began to press himself inside. He was big, but Q was so turned on it felt perfect, filling him just the way he'd always imagined, full of heat and pleasure and the solidity of James' own need. James' hips began to move, slowly at first, and he folded Q in half to get close enough and then nuzzled at Q's cheek as if asking permission. Q kissed him throughly, body moving in time with James' thrust, cock brushing against James' firm belly.

Q's pleasure built until he couldn't hold back any longer, and he cried out, head thrown back as he came into the heated space between their bodies. James let out a low moan and his thrusts grew erratic, and only then did Q realise how smoothly James had driven him over the edge. Q tightened his body around James' glorious cock and whispered in his ear, normally posh tones still hoarse from his wonderful orgasm. "Yes, James, come, let me feel you come inside me."

James moaned again and his hips bucked, cock pulsing in Q's arse as he came. "Minx," he said, between panted breaths, and he kissed Q fiercely. "I wanted to give you another first."

Q laughed delightedly, kissing him very sweetly indeed. "You'll give me another later, I wanted to see you let go," he said. His hands were stroking over James' sweaty form, running through his hair, Q unable to keep himself from reaffirming that James Bond was really here in his bed.

"Oh, I'll definitely do that," said James, with a sensual grin of his own. He pulled out and got them both set to rights, then curled up around Q with his head pillowed on Q's shoulder. "Does this mean you'll keep me?"

"Well," said Q, feeling drunk on pleasure and newfound love, "I suppose you did follow me home."

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize Colin, Divya, and the star chart from another fic, that's because I totally stole them from myself. Colin is my headcanon now.
> 
> Also, I'm amysnotdeadyet on tumblr, come say hi!


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